


Bloodlines

by dracoqueen22



Series: Bloodlines [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alternate Origin, Alternate Universe - Class Swap, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-10-30 07:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17824652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: A simple twist of fate and betrayal lands Fjord in the path of the good ship Moondrop and her crew of traveling circusfolk, including one Mollymauk Tealeaf.For Fjollyweek, Day Seven.





	1. Chapter 1

Fjord wakes choking on saltwater, and he flips over on his side, vomiting up a stream of it. He vaguely hears a muttered curse, and a flint striking stone before a lantern bursts to light in his periphery.   
  
Fjord coughs, throat aching, chest hurting even more. He spits up several mouthfuls and groans, his entire body pummeled. The light is painfully bright, and Fjord rolls onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.   
  
What the hell?   
  
“So you’re awake and puking on my floor, I suppose that means you’re going to be all right?”   
  
Fjord blinks and follows the voice to a very, very colorful tiefling sitting nearby, tattoos dancing brightly over his face and neck and visible across his collarbone. Purple skin and red eyes make him even more outlandish, and an array of jewelry dangles from his horns and ears.   
  
“Then again, this isn’t my room, it’s Bosun’s, but he’s kind enough to loan it to me for my pet project,” the tiefling says with a wave of his hand. He side-eyes the vomit before he looks at Fjord again.   
  
"What's your name, friend?"   
  
Fjord licks his lips, tastes the crusts of seawater in the corners of them. He eyes the tiefling warily. "How did I get here?"   
  
"Point of fact, not an answer to my question." The tiefling stands, and his tail twitches behind him with a faint jingle from the jewelry around the tip of it. "Though the answer to yours is that I saved you, apparently, because I'm an idiot who thinks saving a drowning man is a decent thing to do."   
  
Fjord pulls himself upright, a thin blanket pooling around his hips. His shirt is gone, leaving him bare, and crimson eyes are lingering on his chest. It’s disconcerting.   
  
"Thank you," he says, because politeness never hurts, and he wants answers, not to provoke his rescuer. "I'm Fjord. What might I call my rescuer?"   
  
"Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service." The tiefling performs an exaggerated bow, jewelry musically jingling from his horns. "Molly to my friends, however, so take that as you will." He spreads his arms out in a broad gesture. "You're aboard the Moondrop, captained by the esteemable Gustav Fletching, and we are on our way to Nicodranas."   
  
Mollymauk drops his arms and slides into the chair near the bed. "So that is where you are, who we are, and where we are going. How about an exchange of information? For example, how in the world did you get those scars? If you're a fighter, you must not be a very good one."   
  
Fjord twists his lips before he can scowl, unconsciously dragging his fingers over the multiple marks lining his torso, chest, and arms. "These were done on purpose," he says. "Besides, I don’t know you, Mollymauk. I’m not comfortable telling you those kinds of things."   
  
"That's fair." Mollymauk nods and leans back, hands smacking down on his thighs. "Well, Nicodranas is our port so you're stuck with us for now. Bosun's probably going to come kick you out of his room, because he's picky about his personal space, so you'll be bunking down in the general crew quarters with the rest of us. Hope you don't get seasick."   
  
"You're mighty trusting of someone you plucked out of the ocean."   
  
Mollymauk chuckles. "What can I say? There's a particular brand of idiocy I specialize in. Besides, it's kind of what we do. Hungry?"   
  
Fjord's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. "I suppose I am."   
  
"Well, you missed breakfast so I don't have anything special, but something's better than nothing, right?" Mollymauk stands and picks up a nearby plate Fjord hadn't noticed, bringing it over and setting it down on Fjord's lap.   
  
It's a few pieces of hardtack, an orange, and a cup of water.   
  
"Eat up," Mollymauk says. "You've got to earn your keep. There's no such thing as a free ride here on the Moondrop."   
  
Fjord frowns as he fiddles with the hardtack. "I don't know anything about sailing a ship."   
  
"You'll learn. I'll teach you."   
  
A piece of fabric smacks Fjord in the face. He grabs it before it falls and shakes it out in front of him. His eyebrows raise. It's his shirt, albeit more colorful than the last time he saw it, with multiple tears having been patched with brightly colored thread. There are a few brown spots where blood stained the white and didn't wash out, but it's wearable.   
  
"And put a shirt on for Melora's sake," Mollymauk says as he scratches at the side of his nose, where a small stud twinkles back at Fjord. "That's just cruel."   
  
Cruel?  
  
The door flies open.   
  
"Molly, you've been down here forever!" a blue tiefling complains as she comes bursting inside, a big smile on a face spattered with freckles. "Captain says you have to--" She spies Fjord, and her eyes widen. "Omigosh you're awake! How're you feeling? What's your name? Why were you in the water?"   
  
Mollymauk wraps his fingers around her upper arm before she can pounce forward, and Fjord clutches his shirt to his chest like an innocent maiden.   
  
"Sheesh, Jester, calm down with the interrogation. He just woke up," Mollymauk says with a lazy smile. "This is Fjord."   
  
"Fjord, huh?" Jester grins and sticks out a hand. "Hi, I'm Jester! And it's thanks to me that you're not bleeding everywhere."   
  
Mollymauk coughs.   
  
Jester rolls her eyes. "Fine. It's thanks to me and Caduceus that you're not bleeding everywhere. It was a team effort." She pushes her hand a little closer. "Nice to meet you!"   
  
Fjord takes her hand. "Thank you for healing me," he says, and winces a little at the force behind her grip. For such a small thing, she's unbelievably strong.   
  
"You're welcome." Jester looks over her shoulder and sticks her tongue out at Molly. "Though I still say it doesn't count since I'm actually a crewmember, and Caduceus is just a customer."   
  
Mollymauk snorts."I'll leave that for you to hash out then. But maybe Fjord wants his hand back first?"   
  
Fjord does indeed want his hand back.   
  
"Oops!" Jester ducks her head and lets Fjord go, tucking both hands behind her back. She whirls on Mollymauk, her tail flicking behind her, and Fjord ducks the end of it. "Captain says you have to come up, Molly. You can't keep using him as an excuse to avoid the hard work. It's not fair."   
  
"I'm not avoiding the hard work," Mollymauk says, but he tosses a wink at Fjord, not that he needs it to know Mollymauk is lying out of his ass. "Fjord here needs special care."   
  
Jester snorts and plants her hands on her hip, tail lashing again, and Fjord ducks the other direction, cramming half of an orange into his mouth. Who are these crazy people, and how is he not dead?  
  
"I can see right through your bullshit by now, Molly."  
  
Mollymauk chuckles and pats Jester on the top of her head, between her horns. "Fine, fine. I'll be there soon. Just gotta get the new guy up and moving."   
  
"Don't take too long. I'll come back and drag you out," Jester says before she twirls again and curtsies, of all things. "Welcome to the Moondrop, Fjord."  
  
Mouth smeared with orange juice, Fjord nods. "Thanks," he says, but Jester's already gone, flouncing out the door, with only the faint scent of sugar and cinnamon to indicate she'd ever been there at all.   
  
Fjord shoves the last bite of orange into his mouth. "She's, uh, interesting." He pulls on his shirt, and there's a flash of disappointment in Mollymauk's eyes.   
  
"You haven't seen anything yet," Mollymauk says with a bright laugh showing lots of teeth. "Just wait until you meet the rest of the crew."   
  
That sounds fairly ominous. But Fjord supposes they can't be too terrible. Awful people wouldn't bother rescuing a half-drowned, half-orc would they?  
  
"Eat up, Fjord. There's work to do," Mollymauk says, and he bites into an apple he's pulled from seemingly nowhere. "There's a storm coming, after all."   
  
A storm. Great.   
  
Fjord eats.  
  


~

  
  
Fjord does, in fact, get seasick. He spends the first few minutes on deck leaning over the railing and vomiting up his meager breakfast.   
  
He expects Mollymauk to laugh at him, but instead, the tiefling gives him sympathetic looks, then hands him another cup of water with some kind of herb floating in it. Fjord's stomach cramps, and the dizziness hits, and he hates being seasick more than he's suspicious of Mollymauk's intentions.   
  
He takes the cup and chugs it down before turning his back to the railing and slumping down to his ass. He groans, propping his arms on his knees and letting his head drop.   
  
"At least I don't have to mop it this time," Mollymauk says. "Shame about the orange though. We only have so many."   
  
Fjord palms his face, which is hot, and he doesn't know if it's from the vomiting or from the blinding sun. He doesn't know what storm Mollymauk was talking about. The sky is painfully blue and empty of clouds, and the wind is dry and biting.   
  
He misses the cool damp of the forest.   
  
"You'll get your sea legs eventually. Everyone does." Mollymauk stands at the rail next to Fjord and noisily breathes in deep. He actually goes so far as to close his eyes -- giving Fjord a look at the gold eyeliner painted across his lids.   
  
Fjord noisily slurps at whatever liquid Mollymauk handed him to cover up the fact he's staring.   
  
"What's going on? I heard vomiting," a new voice pipes up, this one a bit deeper, more gravelly. "Is there anything I can do?"   
  
Fjord looks up and nearly chokes on the herbal water. Standing over him, casting a narrow shadow, is a tall, thin firbolg with gray furred skin and bright pink hair. It has a friendly smile, and flowing white shirt and weird pink-green stitching over the seams.   
  
A firbolg. On a sailing ship in the Lucidian Ocean. What kind of ship is this?   
  
Mollymauk turns and leans against the rail, rolling his eyes. "Is there anything you don't hear on this ship, Caduceus?"   
  
Caduceus apparently offers a big, slow smile. "I wouldn't know because then I wouldn't have heard it," he says.   
  
Fjord snorts a laugh, and Caduceus' gaze turns upon him. "You look much better. Yeah. Though I suppose the sea is getting to you?"   
  
"Unfortunately," Fjord says and twists his wrists. "I'm not a sailor."   
  
"Well, that'll come with time. No one starts out a sailor." Caduceus crouches, and he's still looming over Fjord. But he reaches out and rests a hand on Fjord's shoulder.   
  
Where he touches, a flood of warmth spreads outward, and the painful clenching in Fjord's gut eases. The swimming dizziness in his head vanishes, leaving a comforting clarity. For the first time since he emerged on deck and the boat rocked beneath him, Fjord breathes a little easier.   
  
“That should last long enough for you to get your sea legs,” Caduceus says, his rough baritone comforting, reminding him a bit of Vandren. “Perhaps get him a green apple, Mr. Tealeaf. That should help.”   
  
Mollymauk groans and palms his face. “Don’t call me that. It’s Molly, Mr. Clay.  _Molly_. Two syllables. Easy to remember.”   
  
Caduceus chuckles and stands once more. “Very well.” He tips his head at Fjord. “Glad you’re healing all right.”   
  
He wanders away, in much the same mysterious manner he’d appeared, and Fjord stares after him, the firbolg’s tail lazily sweeping back and forth like a cat. Two tieflings and a firbolg. What else is he going to find on this ship?  
  
“Since you’re feeling better, it’s time to get to work!” Mollymauk taps Fjord on the shoulder, the same one Caduceus had patted. “We get the duty of checking the cargo and cleaning the hold.”   
  
Fjord climbs to his feet, though not without some issue. His legs are a little wobbly, but at least his stomach has stopped staging a revolt. He swallows more of the herbal water to wash the last of the sour taste from his mouth.   
  
“Sounds like busy work,” he says.   
  
Molly wags a finger in his face. “No, it’s simple work. There’s a difference.” He lightly elbows Fjord in the side. “Can’t have the newbie screwing up anything important. So we’ll start you light and easy, then maybe we can teach you something more difficult.”   
  
“You think I’ll really be around long enough for that to matter?” Fjord pokes at the cup, swirling around the dregs. What had he been drinking? Leaves? Tea of some kind?   
  
Molly rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rises up, giving Fjord a glimpse of his bare abdomen and the hint of more tattoos curling up his right side, before he drops his arms again.   
  
“Who knows? You might.” Mollymauk grins, and the sun sparkles in his demon-red eyes. “We collect all kinds here. It’s what we do.”  
  
Fjord tilts his head. “That so?”   
  
“Sure is.” Mollymauk steps closer, and the scent of incense mingles with the wet-salt wind. “Hey, I don’t know what left you bloody and drowning in the ocean, but something tells me, it means you don’t have somewhere to go back to. Until you figure it out, well…” He trails off and spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to the Moondrop, home of Gustav Fletching’s Traveling Carnival of Curiosities.”   
  
A circus? He's been saved by a seafaring circus? Of all the things Fjord could have expected from his life, barely surviving Avantika's attempt to take over his clan only to be rescued by a sailing crew of circus folk is so absurd as to be impossible, and yet here he is.  
  
"All right," Fjord says, slowly, carefully, and he sticks out a hand. Friends are something he could use right now. "Thank you for saving my life. Whatever you need me to do to repay the favor, I'm willing to put the work in."   
  
Mollymauk arches one eyebrow and eyes Fjord's hand like it might bite him. "So formal," he says. "Pretty and polite. You're such an interesting package, Fjord." He slaps his hand into Fjord's with a firm shake. "I'm glad I fished you out of the drink. Too bad about your crew though, throwing you overboard for mutiny...?" He leans in, eyebrows waggling.   
  
"That's not what happened," Fjord says. "But good guess."   
  
"Was worth a try."   
  


~

  
  
Work has to wait apparently.   
  
Mollymauk takes him around the ship, a combination tour and meeting of the crew. Fjord steels himself for all manner of odd beings, given this ship belongs to a circus, and he still finds himself surprised.   
  
From the tall, pale woman manning the sails, muscles rippling in her forearms, and a darkness in her eyes that suggests a painful past.   
  
"This is Yasha," Molly introduces. "She's the charm."   
  
"Glad you're not dead," she says, and the ropes creak under her grip, but she manages them without hesitation, and Fjord's appreciation for the strength of her grip triples.   
  
To the flame-haired woman bending over a map, painted, sharp fingernails measuring distances her keen eyes can track.   
  
"This is Ornna, she's the smartest onboard, myself excluded of course."   
  
"Fuck off, Molly," Ornna says, but there's no snarl to her tone, and she doesn't lift her eyes from the map, making a notation with a blunt pencil.   
  
Mollymauk pats her on top of the head and dances out of the way before she can swipe at him. "Love you too, sweetcheeks."   
  
There's a scarred man in the galley, his expression dour, and he nods a greeting at Fjord while he mixes something in a large bowl. It smells of citrus and herbs, and Fjord can only assume it's their lunch for the afternoon.   
  
"Desmond is the reason none of us have died of scurvy yet," Mollymauk says as he tries to sneak a finger into one of the bowls on the counter, and Desmond's glare apparently makes him think otherwise.   
  
It doesn't, however, prevent Mollymauk's tail from wrapping around an apple when Desmond's back is turned.   
  
"Lunch will be ready soon," Desmond says, in a quiet rasp of a voice. "I hope you enjoy."   
  
A young dwarven girl sits on a barrel at the bow of the ship, her lap full of fabric and her deft fingers pulling colorful thread through the pile. She's humming under her breath in a beautiful voice that calls to something faint in Fjord's memory.   
  
"Toya here fixed your shirt," Mollymauk says as he bends over to give her a kiss on the top of her head, and she giggles.   
  
"Thank you." Fjord runs a finger over one of the bright purple stitches. "You did fine work."   
  
She grins up at him, her eyes sparkling, her fingers still deftly threading through the fabric in her lap. "Are you joining the crew?" She sounds hopeful, excited even.   
  
Fjord scratches at his cheek. "Uh, I don't know yet."   
  
Toya's lips widen into a brighter smile. "Well, I'm pretty sure Molly--"  
  
"Don't you have stitching to finish and pirate ships to watch out for?" Mollymauk asks with a very loud cough, cutting her off.   
  
"And you have a hold to organize," Toya replies before she looks back over the water, squinting against the harsh reflections of the sun over the waves. "Nice to meet you, Fjord."   
  
"She's right, you know. We have work to do." Mollymauk takes Fjord by the arm and pulls him away from the bow, away from Toya, and Fjord stumbles after him, still working on catching his balance.   
  
He feels much better though, after whatever Caduceus had done, and eating the stolen apple Mollymauk had given him.   
  
"The twins and the captain are sleeping. They've got nightwatch. You'll meet them at supper," Mollymauk says as he pushes Fjord ahead of him, into the hold. “Bo’s up on watch.” He points to the crow’s nest high above them, and the colorful flags flapping in the freeze.   
  
Fjord counts in his head, but it still doesn't seem to be enough people to man a ship. Then again, what does he know? The Moondrop is pretty small, though it's quick enough given the way it seems to fly across the water. Maybe it doesn't need much?   
  
"Oh, and watch out for Kylre," Mollymauk says as Fjord stumbles down the short set of steps and plunges into the dim of the hold.   
  
"Who's Kylre?" Fjord asks as a sound floats to his ears, a deep, gurgling sound that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He skids to a halt at the foot of the stairs, and goes for a sword that's not on his hip anymore.   
  
He whirls toward the burbling, growling noise, and picks out a dark shape hulking between some barrels and crates. There's a strange odor down here, like a mix of sulfur and mildew and swamp.   
  
Fjord growls deep in his chest. He might not have a sword, but he's not without his defenses.   
  
"That's Kylre," Mollymauk says as he appears at Fjord's left side, patting him on the shoulder. "And he's sleeping, so maybe not wake him up."   
  
"What is it?" Fjord asks, taking a step backward, away from the snoring hulk of something that pings on his senses as 'dangerous'.   
  
"He's some kind of lizard man. It takes all kinds." Mollymauk shrugs and squeezes his shoulder. "Come on. We got work to do."   
  
Fjord turns away from Kylre with some reluctance. He doesn't like the idea of turning his back on such a creature, but Mollymauk doesn't seem to be concerned.   
  
It's not his place to judge.   
  


~

  
  
Fjord had called this job easy.   
  
He'd been very, very wrong.   
  
By the time lunch is called, he aches from head to toe, and he can't remember the last time he'd engaged in such physical labor. He's flushed, he's sweating, and his shirt is soaked. It clings to his body like a second skin.   
  
Mollymauk isn't so much as out of breath.   
  
Lunch is a simple fare, unexpectedly delicious, some kind of fish soup with more hard tack, and a cheap ale that settles warm in Fjord's belly. He sits back and watches while the rest of the crew crowds around an old, stained table, and squabbles like blood relatives. It puts a certain pang in Fjord's chest, where he remembers too many shared meals with his clan, now overlaid with the ache of betrayal from Sabian and Avantika's actions.   
  
He doesn't know if Vandren survived. He hopes so, but the Moondrop is heading away from the battle, and Fjord fears by the time he makes his way back, any trail will have run cold.  
  
He hasn’t made up his mind what he plans to do about it. He knows he can’t leave it alone. He has to do something.   
  
The betrayal cuts deep; it cuts to the core of him. He’s never had a family until Vandren and the others, and for Avantika to tear that apart is unforgivable. He doesn’t care about her motivations.   
  
He just wants her dead.   
  


~

  
  
Fjord graduates from cargo shifting to scrubbing the deck while Mollymauk climbs throughout the rigging, checking the ropes and ties for frays or damage. A daily task apparently.   
  
"Caduceus says a storm is coming," Mollymauk tells him, even though the sky is clear and cloudless and a flock of seabirds have passed overhead. "I'm inclined to believe him. He tends to know these things."   
  
"A bad storm?" Fjord asks. He glances at the horizon, nerves making his stomach do flipflops. He thinks he might be sick again.   
  
Mollymauk laughs. "Nothing we haven't weathered before, I'm sure. Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on you."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"That's a good question." Mollymauk hums and focuses on a piece of rope, idly twining it around his fingers. "Maybe I'm letting my curiosity get the best of me. It's one of my many, many faults."   
  
"Well, I appreciate it." Fjord dips the mop in the bucket and builds up a good pile of suds. "Not many people would help out a stranger."   
  
"True." Mollymauk rises to the tips of his toes and replaces the rope, moving on to the next one. "But I guess I'm returning the favor. I used to be the stranger who was lucky enough to be helped."  
  
"The circus?"   
  
Mollymauk wraps his fingers around the rope and hoists himself upward, tail wrapping around the rope as well as he starts to climb. "They take all kinds," he calls down and offers Fjord a wink. "But only if they're useful, so maybe you ought to get to mopping."   
  
Change of subject. Fjord can accept that. He shakes his head and gets back to work.   
  
Later, Fjord nearly soaks Jester when he goes to toss the bucket of dirty water overboard and she pops up in front of him, as if from nowhere. He shouts, aborts the motion, and ends up dropping the bucket, spilling the water all over the deck he'd freshly scrubbed.   
  
"Oops, sorry!" Jester jumps back, her freckles brightening as she blushes. “I was just coming by to check on you, but now it looks like I just made your job harder.”   
  
Fjord swallows a sigh. “It’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose.” He stares down at the soaked deck and the bucket thunks to the ground next to his boots.   
  
Wait. Not his boots. These are not his boots. He must have lost his boots to the sea. Whose boots are he wearing then?   
  
“Fjord?”   
  
He blinks and looks up. Jester leans in toward him, worry on her face, her fingers reaching toward his, and Fjord jerks back.   
  
He immediately trips on the bucket and tumbles to his ass, making more of a racket than is necessary. His face burns with embarrassment.   
  
Jester blinks.   
  
“Are you okay?”   
  
“Fine. I’m fine.” Fjord drags himself to his feet, pretends to brush dirt from his clothes, and rights the now empty bucket. “Just realized these aren’t my boots.”   
  
Jester laughs and tucks her hands behind her back, the wind ruffling her hair and her pleated skirts. “No, they’re mine.”   
  
Fjord blinks. He looks at his feet, and then he looks at Jester’s feet, and he realizes they do appear to be the same size. His boots are a little more worn, and Jester’s are newer and decorated with glitter and paint.   
  
“Oh,” he says. “Thanks…?”  
  
“If you don’t want them, I can take them back,” Jester says, but there’s a hint of a tease in her voice, and mischief on her lips.   
  
Fjord shakes his head. “No, sorry, I… thank you, I mean it.” He rubs the back of his head and exhales noisily. He peers past her shoulder, to the glittering peaks of the ocean waves.   
  
“You’re welcome! Do you need any more healing? Because I’m a cleric, you know,” Jester says, and she points a finger at the sky, her tone taking on that of a recitation. “The Traveler is the best deity there is. He says so.”   
  
Fjord’s never heard of him.   
  
“I think I’m good,” he says. “Appreciate the offer though.” He toes the bucket with the tip of his borrowed boot. “I should probably get back to work before the captain decides I’m not earning my keep.”   
  
"Captain Gustav wouldn't do that. He's too much of a softie." Jester tucks her hands behind her back and bobs on her feet. "But I should get back to work, too. Those sails aren't going to mend themselves. See you at dinner!"   
  
She wriggles her fingers in goodbye.   
  
Fjord watches her go, and he'll admit, he's confused. It's weird for people to be so friendly. He's not used to it.   
  
He shakes his head and gets back to work. He has to rewash this deck now.   
  
Laughter floats down from above him, and Fjord looks up. Mollymauk is perched in the ropes, hanging from them as if they are as stable as solid ground.   
  
"I think she likes you," he says.   
  
"Better than throwing rocks at me," Fjord says.   
  
"That sounds like personal experience," Mollymauk replies.   
  
Fjord shrugs and crouches down at the bucket. "Half-orc.”   
  
"Tiefling." Mollymauk throws a thumb at himself before he hooks a boot in a rope and starts to scale them again. "Have fun mopping!"   
  
Fjord rolls his eyes. Jerk.   
  
He gets back to work, but with an unexpected smile.   
  


~

  
  
Eventually, the sun sets.   
  
Dinner is served on deck, Desmond carrying up platters of food with Caduceus' assistance, and a new cask of ale popped open for the occasion. What occasion, Fjord asks, and no one gives him a straight answer. He suspects the crew of the Moondrop just like to celebrate.   
  
And even though Caduceus is technically a customer and not crew, no one protests too loudly when he invites himself into the galley to help Desmond with the meals.   
  
"Good food is the key to a happy crew," he says as he lays down a plate of some kind of fruit salad. "And a happy crew is the key to successful, problem-free travels."   
  
Fjord has to admit the wisdom in the remarks. It's not unlike something Vandren used to say about what it took to lead a happy clan.   
  
The crew of the Moondrop -- day shift and night shift both -- gather around the table, which is little more than a piece of wood braced over two barrels and draped in a patchwork cloth. Candles flicker in a mild sea-wind, and Fjord perches near the end of the table, between Mollymauk and Jester, both of whom keep piling his plate with food as though in a competition to see who can feed him the most.   
  
Fjord is introduced to Captain Gustav Fletching, a slight, half-elven man with long, pale brown hair and a bright smile. He shakes Fjord's hand with a bit of flair.   
  
"Happy to have you aboard," he says. "You're not the first drowned man we rescued, and I'm sure you won't be the last. Just don't cause any trouble, steal anything, or set fire to my ship and we'll get along just fine."   
  
"That was the one time!" Bosun, another half-orc said from the other side of the table. "And I fixed it!" His was the room Fjord has woken in. He hasn't officially met Bosun yet, but he's sure it's coming eventually.   
  
Laughter spills across the table.   
  
Fjord's lips twitch into a smile. "I'll do my best to behave, sir."   
  
"Sir?" Ornna bursts into laughter. "Please don't call him that again."   
  
The captain tosses her an annoyed look, but it's gone when he turns his attention back on Fjord. "Anyway, welcome aboard."   
  
And that's it. No inquiries into his past. No demand he spill his story or offer an explanation. Nothing but acceptance.   
  
It's one of the strangest things Fjord's ever seen.   
  
After dinner, Desmond pulls out a fiddle and starts to play. A sweet, mournful tune pours over the deck. It makes Fjord's heart ache, like the echo of a lost love, and it lasts as long as it takes for Ornna to come back on deck.   
  
"Come on, Desmond. Pick up the beat a little," she says.   
  
Desmond sighs, but changes tempo, and a faster beat emerges, something that makes Fjord start tapping his feet. Toya immediately stands and pulls Mollymauk to his feet, giggling, "Dance with me!"   
  
"But of course, milady," Mollymauk says with an overdone bow.   
  
He spins her around, and Toya laughs as they twirl across the deck to the lively fiddle. Fjord watches them, remembering far too many mating bonfires, when Jester crosses his field of vision.   
  
“Do you dance, Fjord?” she asks, bending over to block his view, her hands on her thighs, her smile big and welcoming.   
  
“Uh, not really,” he says.   
  
She straightens and offers her hand to him. “Come on. It’s fun! You should try it. Everybody dances around here!”  
  
Fjord leans around her, looking for an escape. He spies Yasha leaning against the mast, arms folded, gaze on the distant, dark horizon.   
  
“Yasha isn’t.”   
  
Jester rolls her eyes. “Yasha only dances when it’s really special, and she’s  _really_  good at it. This is just for fun. Come on!” She wriggles her fingers, inviting and friendly, and unconsciously, Fjord’s tongue runs over his chipped tusks.   
  
No one ever invited him to dance.   
  
He takes her hands, and she pulls him to his feet with more strength than her slight frame gives credit to. Fjord loses his balance, tumbles forward, and Jester spins him toward the dancing few with a laugh.   
  
Fjord lets her lead because he has no idea what he’s doing. He feels an idiot and a fool, but a laugh threatens to bubble up in his throat anyway. Jester’s amusement is infectious, and the music wraps around him like the sea-salt air.   
  
“Partner swap!” Jester sings, and before Fjord can figure out what she means, he’s being swung in Mollymauk’s direction, and Toya giggles as she spins toward Jester.   
  
Warm hands, calloused from ropework, wrap around Fjord’s fingers, and his body impacts one far warmer than his own.   
  
“Well, hello there, sailor,” Mollymauk purrs with an air of mischief, his tail twitching behind him, and his body undulating to the music. “Fancy meeting you here.”   
  
Fjord flushes to the tips of his ears. “What are you doing?”   
  
“Dancing of course, what’re you doing?” Mollymauk retorts, this time with pretend innocence curling his lips. “You should loosen up a little, Fjord. You’re so stiff.”   
  
"I'm not used to dancing," Fjord admits as the heat flushes his face and the tempo seems to only increase, until the world is a smear of color around him.   
  
"Hmm. Maybe that's because you're a thief," Mollymauk says, and he leans in conspiratorially. "One of magical objects. And a wizard force-teleported you into the middle of the ocean as payback for stealing his stuff."   
  
Mollymauk laughs and spins Fjord around. "You have to be careful around wizards, Fjord. They can be very shifty folk."   
  
Fjord gets his feet beneath him, gripping tightly to Mollymauk's hands to keep from tumbling over. "That's not what happened."   
  
"I'll figure it out eventually. Or you'll tell me."   
  
"I barely know you," Fjord says as Mollymauk pushes and pulls and twists him to the music, their bodies coming together before breaking apart again, each meeting more of a tease. "Maybe I'm guarding my secrets."   
  
Mollymauk grins and pulls Fjord into a dip, just as the music reaches a crescendo. "I have plenty of time to introduce myself. Earn your trust even," he says, as he breathes heavily and Fjord can only see his smile, framed by the glittering starlight and the flickering torches. "Or at least the rest of the week anyway."   
  
The music ends.   
  
Mollymauk lifts Fjord out of the dip and pats him on the shoulder. “Nice dance,” he says, and Fjord struggles to get his feet beneath him, in more ways than one. “You’re a natural.”   
  
“Thank you, Desmond,” the captain says as a smattering of applause spills over the deck.   
  
The scarred man dips into a shallow bow, and stows his instrument in a lovingly maintained carry case. Fjord guesses that means the music is done for the evening, which is maybe a good thing.   
  
Exhaustion sets in, pulling his shoulders down, making his knees ache, and though he’s mostly healed, his scars feel tight and warm. It’s been a long day in more ways than one.   
  
“Come on,” Mollymauk says as the crew starts drifting in various directions, the evening’s entertainment complete. “I’ll show you to our room.”   
  
“Our?” Fjord echos.   
  
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s tiny, and we don’t have bunks, we have hammocks,” Mollymauk explains as he leads Fjord to the hatch and the ladder going down into the dark. “It’s why you woke up in Bosun’s room. Easier to get to. The First Mate gets all the perks.”   
  
He makes a face up at Fjord that shouldn’t be as enticing as it is.   
  
Fjord follows him down, passing a dim lantern flickering in a narrow hallway lined with doors. Mollymauk pushes open the second door on the right, which isn't locked, and leads Fjord into a dark space.   
  
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and if he wasn't claustrophobic, now might be the time it crops up. The room is  _tiny_ with two hammocks slung to either side of the door, and a small chest beneath each of them. There's no window, and there's enough space between the two hammocks for a narrow walkway.   
  
Fjord could lay down in the center, perpendicular to the walls, and not have enough room to stretch out.   
  
There's a click and a small, hooded lantern bursts to life, emitting a dim glow. Mollymauk hangs it from a hook in the ceiling between the two hammocks.   
  
"Welcome to your home for the next five to six days, if the wind is kind and the waves in our favor," Mollymauk says. He crouches down in front of one of the chests and flips it open, pulling out a small box. He gestures over his shoulder with a thumb. "That one's yours."   
  
Fjord kneels down at the other trunk and flicks the unlocked latches open. A smell of must and camphor floats out. He wrinkles his nose and feels around the dark interior, emerging with a folded blanket and thin pillow. There's a small box inside, like Mollymauk's, but when Fjord opens it, there's nothing inside.   
  
No there's a few small crumbles of something, but Fjord can't tell what they are. Tobacco? Tea leaves? Spell components? Remnants of whoever had this bunk before him apparently.   
  
Fjord's own pockets are empty. He'd lost his sword and his money pouch in the explosion. He has nothing to his name right now, and he's fully dependent on the kindness of these circus folk.   
  
He closes the box and tucks it back into the chest. The blanket and the pillow he'll use, however, as there's nothing on the hammock and down here in the bowels of the ship, it's chillier. The creak and groan of the Moondrop are alien noises compared to the click and chirp and rattle and sway of the forest.   
  
"You're working so Gustav is gonna pay you," Mollymauk says, as though he noticed Fjord's stare into the empty box. "Not as much as we get because you don't know anything, but it'll give you a little coin for your empty pockets."   
  
Mollymauk's own box has been filled with various bits of decoration, all removed from his horns, fingers, and ears. He's kept a few studs, and the one in his nose, but all the dangling chains have been safely stowed.   
  
"I'm much obliged." Fjord stands and throws both blanket and pillow onto the hammock. "You've all done more more kindness than most people I've ever met."   
  
Mollymauk grunts, and the hammock creaks as he pulls himself into it with practiced ease, setting the hammock into a light sway. "You're welcome." He folds his arms behind his head and turns to look at Fjord. "You going to be able to sleep in that?"  
  
"Won't know until I try," Fjord says.   
  
He eyes the hammock, it's mounts, calculates the sway, and feels the burn of Mollymauk's gaze between his shoulderblades. The ceiling is very, very low, and Fjord doesn't have far to climb. He takes a breath and hauls himself into the hammock with only a little bit of fumbling, his aching arm muscles protesting the entire way.   
  
"You made it," Mollymauk sings, and claps his hands together, patronizing.   
  
Fjord glares at him, but he's more focused on the awkward maneuvering of making himself comfortable in the woven netting. It's not too bad actually. Different than the firm ground he occasionally slept on, and different still than his bunk at the clanhouse, but not uncomfortable.   
  
His back aches, as if to remind him of all the unusual physical labor he's done today.   
  
Fjord punches his pillow a few times and puts it behind his head. It smells old and musty, like it hasn't been used in months. It doesn't smell like home.   
  
A pang of longing throbs through Fjord. Again, he wonders, who among the clan survived, if Vandren is still out there, if Avantika survived long enough for him to stab her through the heart.   
  
"Tomorrow you'll be on lookout," Mollymauk says, his voice floating over in the dim. "And Desmond says he could use some help in the kitchens. You have another full schedule. Though that's if the storm isn't dangerous."   
  
The storm. Right.   
  
"Sounds doable," Fjord says.   
  
Mollymauk's hammock creaks, and the room falls into darkness as he douses the lantern. "You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"   
  
"Of course not."   
  
"Good."   
  
"Mollymauk, you do know I can see in the dark, right?"   
  
"I didn't want to make any assumptions." Mollymauk's laugh spills into the space between them. "Besides, you should be calling me 'Molly', Fjord. Don't be so formal."   
  
"I'll keep that in mind."   
  
"I didn't know merpeople could see in the dark."   
  
Fjord's hammock rattles as he shifts to look over at Mollymauk, whose lips are curved into a grin, his tail twitching beneath the hammock. "What?"   
  
Molly's grin is full of mischief, gleaming at Fjord from the other side of the tiny space. "Since you're a merman exiled from his people for the crime of loving a human, right?"   
  
There's a moment before Fjord spills into a laugh, shaking his head. "If I were a merman, wouldn't I have been a better swimmer?"   
  
"Not if you're used to having fins and suddenly have legs now," Mollymauk says.   
  
"Fair point." Fjord folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the scarred ceiling, places where someone had taken a blade to the wood and carved nonsensical symbols. "I'm not a merman."   
  
"Drat."   
  
Fjord laughs and closes his eyes, trying to let the rhythm and noise of the ship lull him into slumber. He’s exhausted and achy and still can’t believe he’s alive and on a ship staffed by circusfolk.   
  
It feels like some very weird dream.   
  
“Goodnight, Fjord.”   
  
Fjord smiles to himself. Then again, he doesn’t think he could have ever imagined someone like Mollymauk Tealeaf.   
  
“Goodnight, Molly.”   
  
And tomorrow is another day.   
  


*


	2. Chapter 2

_They’re having dinner when the door slams open, and Avantika struts inside, flanked by Sabian and Bartork, her long coat flapping around her ankles and a grin on her lips.  
  
“What’s this? Did my invitation for dinner get lost in the mail?” she asks with a pointed look at the table and the two settings.   
  
Vandren sits back and rubs his forehead. He’s been looking more and more tired lately, creases building around his eyes, and a heavy slump to his shoulders. “What is this about, Avantika?” He sounds like he already knows, and he’s bracing himself for the inevitable argument.   
  
_ _Fjord lowers his fork back to his plate and wipes at his mouth with a napkin. Sabian’s smirking at him, and Bartork looks like she’s ready for battle. It doesn’t make any sense. They’re home right now. They’re safe.  
  
Avantika pulls out the one empty chair with a squeak of wood over wood, and drops down into it. One leg kicks up on the table, and she crosses it at the ankle with her other leg. She’s still smirking. Her hat sits crooked on her head, a mess of curls spilling across her shoulders, her lips painted a bright hue.   
  
“I have a proposal, my dear,” she says, folding her arms across her belly. “One that’s a long time coming.”   
  
Vandren’s eyes flick to Bartork and Sabian. “We’ve discussed this.”   
  
“No.” Avantika’s voice is sharp, and her eyes narrow. “You’ve given us no voice in this. Well, my darling, it’s time.”   
  
Fjord looks at Sabian, asking without words, but his friend and sometimes lover offers nothing back. He bounces on his heels, and he’s tossing something back and forth in his hands. Something small, with a sharp, sulfurous odor to it.   
  
Fjord’s nostrils flare. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t have left his sword back in the barracks.   
  
Vandren stands, his napkin falling from his lap. “Don’t do this.”   
  
“You should not have underestimated me, Vandren,” Avantika says with a painted smile as something outside the window goes off with a loud boom. “That was your mistake.”_  
  
“--jord!”   
  
He lurches awake and the floor immediately turns out from under him. Fjord yelps and flails, and finds nothing but wood floor. With his face. Pain explodes outward. He tastes blood on his lips and groans, his feet still tangled in the netting of the hammock.   
  
“You’re just full of grace, aren’t you?”   
  
Fjord groans and rolls over onto his back. A lantern sways dizzily, flickering light around the small room. Molly leans over him, a gleaming white smile seeming sharp and angular in the dark shadows.   
  
“A little help?” Fjord asks.   
  
Molly chuckles and straightens. He untangles Fjord’s feet from the hammock, and helps pull Fjord to his feet. The ship immediately pitches beneath them, throwing Fjord off balance and right into Molly’s arms.   
  
“Still no sea legs, eh?” Molly teases as he grabs Fjord by the waist and holds him steady.   
  
“What’s going on?” Fjord asks, trying to blink away the sleep, his thoughts scattering in all directions. Sleep clogs his eyes, and the dream -- the memory -- is too fresh on his mind.   
  
Molly squeezes his waist before the ship settles and Molly lets him go. Fjord resists the urge to grab him back, a waft of incense floating to his nose.   
  
“Mr. Clay was right as usual. We’re in the middle of a storm.” Molly’s tail lashes behind him. The lantern creaks and sways. “But since you can’t keep your feet beneath you, you’re going to stay here. Me? I gotta head up top and help out.”   
  
“So you woke me up to tell me to stay put?”   
  
Molly pats him on the cheek gently. “That’s right.” He winks and steps back, giving Fjord a curious look, as if he’s waiting to see if Fjord will topple over.   
  
It’s a near thing.   
  
He keeps his feet beneath him, and Molly pulls away, tail lashing behind him. “Go back to sleep if you can,” Molly says as he heads to the door, moving easily with the pitch and sway of the ship. “I promise to come get you if we start sinking.”   
  
“That’s not comforting,” Fjord says, threading his fingers through the netting of his hammock as the ship rocks sharply to the left.   
  
Molly rides it out and opens the door, as the lantern creaks and sways, casting odd light patterns around the room. “Honestly, Fjord, it’s like you don’t trust me.” He laughs and slips out of the room.   
  
Outside, the dull rumble and roar of thunder seems to rattle the entire ship. Fjord’s stomach churns. There’s no way he can go back to sleep. What if the ship sinks? Are they gonna care enough to make sure he’s overboard and not dragged down into the depths while trapped in the bowels of the ship?   
  
Fjord lets go of the hammock, takes a deep breath, and stumbles toward the door. The rough wood of the floor scratches at his soles, but he’d rather have bare feet than boots right now. Somehow, it feels easier to walk.   
  
He’s going to get splinters.   
  
Wood creaks and groans. Thunder clashes and rumbles. The ship pitches hard to the left, and Fjord tumbles against the door, smacking his shoulder against it.   
  
Ow.   
  
He waits, catches his breath, then yanks the door open. The outside hallway is completely dark, and it takes a moment for Fjord’s darkvision to kick in. He can’t see anyone, but most of the doors are cracked open.   
  
It’s louder. The thunder rumbles and water splashes, wood creaks, and beneath it all, people shout at each other in Common.   
  
Fjord stumbles forward as the ship gives another sharp tilt, slamming him into the wall. Pain spikes through his shoulder, but he grits his teeth and keeps going. One, two, three steps. Then a few more before he tips against the ladder and starts to climb, bruised shoulder protesting.   
  
Above him, there's a rumble of thunder and bright-crackling flash of lightning. Rain pours in through the open hatch, spraying down on his face, soaking him in an instant.   
  
Maybe he should have stayed below.   
  
He keeps climbing. Vandren always told him he had the common sense of a goldfish.   
  
Wind and rain lash his face as he climbs out on the deck, keeping low to hold his balance against the pitch and yaw of the ship. More shouting floats to his ears; the sky lights up with lightning, and there's something else. Something big and bright and crackling near the bow of the ship.   
  
The ship tilts to the left, and Fjord stumbles, catching himself on barrels lashed to the railing. He clings to them, blinking rainwater out of his wide eyes. Another flash of lightning outlines a large form standing against the blue humanoid entity, a shadow of wings against her shoulders.   
  
What in the...?  
  
Yasha. He recognizes Yasha, blade drawn, teeth bared, screaming a sound of primal rage at something that looks as if it's born of lightning. They're fighting, while other members of the crew scurry around the ship, struggling to keep her afloat.   
  
And Molly clambering up the sails, tail lashing around him, talons tearing into fabric as he winds around a rope. He holds out a hand, and a greenish-blue bolt of energy slams into the entity's shoulder. It bellows, and the sky rumbles ominously.   
  
It curls in on itself and suddenly, it's growing, half-again its height and reach. Energy lights up along its body in a wave, and the hair on Fjord's arms stands on end, despite the chill and wet of the storm crashing down on him.   
  
"Molly, stop helping!" A familiar voice shouts, and Fjord tracks it to Jester, clinging to the helm, struggling to keep it from spinning wildly.   
  
What in all the gods is going on?  
  
Yasha screams and throws herself at the entity, sword slicing through the air, carving into something that doesn't seem to have solid form. Pale blue flows out of the wound and dissipates in the air. It tries to backhand her, but she darts out of the way, tucking into a roll on one shoulder, rising up on her knee to slash at the entity again.   
  
It bellows, the sky thunders, and a voice rings out, "Show me your strength!"   
  
Lightning crackles jagged across the sky, and the wind slams down on the ship as if it has physical weight, stealing Fjord's breath.   
  
He loses his grip on the barrels and tumbles, end over end, his back slamming into the railing with a breath-stealing jolt. His back aches. His head spins. Rope creaks and groans and snaps.   
  
Shit.   
  
The barrels come tumbling toward him.   
  
Fjord is abruptly yanked out of the way as they smack into the railing where he'd been, shattering into pieces, revealing themselves to be empty. Well, at least they won't lose any supplies to the sea, though the barrels aren't cheap either.   
  
"You oughta be down below, Mr. Fjord," Caduceus says as he wraps an arm around Fjord, holding him tight to Caduceus' chest. He smells like herbs and dirt, which is a weird thing to smell like, on a ship in the middle of a thunderstorm. "It's not safe up here for someone who hasn't got their sea legs yet."   
  
Fjord's not ashamed to admit he clings to Caduceus, who's managed to root himself to the deck, easily keeping his balance on the pitching ship. Though his other arm is wrapped around a rope, maybe that has something to do with it.   
  
"What's going on?" Fjord asks as more lightning flashes, and Yasha carves another chunk out of the entity.   
  
It starts to shrink, returning to the size it had been before Molly attacked it.   
  
Molly.   
  
Fjord seeks out the purple tiefling, amid the wind and the rain and the dark and the lightning, and doesn't immediately spot him.   
  
"Just a little tussle with the Storm Lord, don't you worry," Caduceus rumbles into his ear. "It happens from time to time."   
  
Fjord all but squawks. "Yasha's fighting a god!?"  
  
"More like a representation of one, but yes. They have a tumultuous relationship." Caduceus sounds, of all things, amused. "Oh. You're injured. Let me help."   
  
Warmth floods over Fjord's body, chasing away the dull aches in his limbs from his repeated collisions with the various bits of the ship.   
  
"Yasha!" Molly's voice rings across the storm, sounding terrified.   
  
With good reason. Yasha has just taken a terrible blow from the entity which has sent her reeling, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth before the storm splashes it away. She swipes at it with an angry motion, bares her teeth, and Fjord swears she screams at the being made of light and charge. She hefts her blade with two hands and charges.   
  
Fjord's eyes widen as she cleaves into the entity with a solid blow, only to toss her sword aside and punch straight into the chest, straight through where she'd carved into the mass of crackling energy. Lightning crashes overhead and thunder rolls loud enough for Fjord to feel it in his bare teeth as Yasha snarls and yanks her hand back, holding a pulsing ball of something in her fist.   
  
" _ **You're learning**_ ," the voice rings out, from no clear direction, seemingly all around them, booming enough to echo in Fjord's chest. " _ **Good**_."   
  
There's a moment where Yasha's holding the pulsing ball and the entity looms over her, dissipating energy trickling out of its chest. The entity seems to nod, as if approving, before it abruptly bursts into a shimmering haze, bright enough to cut through the dark of the storm.   
  
Yasha clenches her fist around the ball of energy, and it too shatters into sparks, dissipating before they hit the deck of the ship. Quiet descends without thunder to rock the sky. The frantic rocking of the ship becomes less pronounced.   
  
Fjord closes his mouth, realizing he'd been gaping this whole time.   
  
"There now, that's better," Caduceus says, and guides one of Fjord's hands to the rope. "Hold on to this. I'm going to tend to Ms. Yasha."   
  
Fjord obeys dumbly, still awestruck by the display of sheer power. Just who are these people? What kind of ship has he stumbled on?  
  
Jester moves to Yasha's side as Yasha hasn't moved. She's staring at her hand, and the wings on her back are tattered and dark, until they fold inward and dissipate, much like the entity had. Jester lays a hand on her shoulder, and they start talking, but Fjord is too far away to hear them.   
  
The wind dies down. The rain becomes a gentle fall. The ship still bobs on the waves, but it doesn't send Fjord's stomach into knots. He thinks he might be able to keep his feet under him.   
  
Molly leaps down from the rigging with a flourish, tail flicking behind him. He darts up to Yasha, grabs her cheeks, looks her over left and right before he pulls her down to plant a kiss on her forehead. He winks and pats her cheek before turning her over to Caduceus' care.   
  
Then he looks in Fjord's direction as if a thread is drawn between them. He slips past Yasha and beelines for Fjord, while Fjord cautiously lets go of the rope. His knees hold his weight, and that's a relief.   
  
Molly leaps over a low railing and lands in front of Fjord with a bit of a wobble. "I thought I told you to stay downstairs," he says but it's with a teasing smile.   
  
"I thought I might drown if I did," Fjord admits. "What in the Nine Hells was that?"  
  
"The Stormlord," Molly says as if Fjord should have already known the answer because it’s obvious. "He's Yasha's deity. They're still working things out."   
  
"This happens a lot?" Fjord asks as Molly passes him and starts gathering up the bits of the barrel that haven't gone overboard.   
  
Fjord, after a moment of making sure he has his balance, moves to assist.   
  
"Often enough we're used to it." Molly examines a piece of wood, frowns, and tosses it overboard. Not good enough to save apparently. "But not too often which Gustav is grateful for. The Moondrop takes enough of a beating as it is."   
  
“It’s not in danger of sinking, is it?” Fjord asks, looking over the railing as the sea gradually gets calmer around them. The sky is still a dark grey above, ominous but far less than it had been when the storm hovered above them.   
  
Yasha is sitting on the deck now, back pressed against the upper railing, her arms draped over her raised knees. Jester kneels beside her, one hand on her shoulder, speaking quietly, and Caduceus crouches on her other side. Fjord can’t see Yasha’s face, so he can’t tell if she feels triumphant or discouraged.   
  
If this is a common enough thing, perhaps it’s a bit of both.   
  
Molly chuckles. “No. Of course not.” He nudges Fjord with an elbow. “Besides, if you were to fall overboard, I’d simply dive in after you again. I can’t let my treasure drown.”   
  
Fjord’s face heats. “T-treasure!” he splutters and nearly drops his armful of broken barrel. “How am I your treasure?”   
  
“I pulled you from the sea,” Molly says, almost sing-song as he pushes to his feet, only to hook one last piece of barrel with the tip of his toes and flick it upward, deftly adding it to his stack. “That makes you mine to keep.” He leans in, close enough Fjord can smell the sea and incense on him. “Just like anything found on the open ocean.”   
  
Fjord narrows his eyes, feels heat stealing into his cheeks. “I don’t think that’s how it works with living beings.”   
  
“Now you’re just talking semantics.” Molly sashays past him, heading for the entrance to the hold rather than the crew quarters. “Come on. Let’s get these to Bosun. Maybe he can do something with them. Then it’s back to bed, I think.”   
  
Bed. Yes.   
  
Exhaustion still tugs at Fjord’s bones.   
  
He casts another glance at Yasha over his shoulder, but his view of her is obscured by the rigging and the rails. Above, the sky has lightened further, a few patches of night sky visible through the dissipating cloud cover. It’s almost like it had been a dream.   
  
It all feels like one very long dream.   
  
They drop the barrel pieces off with Bosun, who grumbles under his breath about Yasha and her bouts with the Storm Lord.   
  
“Can’t quietly pray to herself like any other worshipper, always has to make a grand production of it,” he mutters as he points them to a corner to deposit the pieces. “That’s how it is with gods. They like to be dramatic.”   
  
“Well, with power like that, who can blame them?” Molly asks with a swish-swish of his tail. He’s grinning, ear to ear, entirely unbothered by it.   
  
Bosun snorts. “You’d say that, wouldn’t you, Mollymauk?” He shoos them out with flicks of his hands. “Back to bed with you. We’ll need to check the sails and rigging tomorrow after that fight.”   
  
“As usual,” Molly says and pushes Fjord out ahead of him, his hands warm through the thin fabric of Fjord’s borrowed shirt. “Good night, Bosun!”   
  
Fjord stumbles into the hallway as Molly slips out after him, pulling the door shut. He’s got one hand behind his back, and a grin on his face that screams of mischief. That he’s almost giggling makes Fjord narrow his eyes.   
  
He barely knows Mollymauk, but he’s not unfamiliar with mischief. Though it squeezes his heart to think of them, Sabian and he had often gotten into mischief when left to their own devices. Sabien could be so clever when he was bored.   
  
“What’s that look for?” Fjord asks.   
  
Molly’s grin goes ear to ear. He starts down the hall, Fjord hurrying to catch up, and only then does he show his prize. It’s a small, dark bottle. Fjord doesn’t recognize the label on it -- the language one unfamiliar to him.   
  
“He’s got a whole crate of them. I doubt he’ll notice the one missing.” Molly gives the bottle a pointed wiggle and winks. “I’ll share if you promise not to tell.”   
  
Fjord licks his lips. He really shouldn’t encourage theft, but he assumes they are all close enough Bosun doesn’t consider it a true insult. “Just a sip,” he says.   
  
“I’m not going to drink it all in one night! This deserves to be savored.” Molly waves the bottle with a flourish before striding ahead of Fjord, finding his way easily through the dim hallways to to their shared room.   
  
Inside, Molly digs through his trunk and produces two wooden cups, a little rough and wobbly carved, but serviceable. He pours a generous portion in each cup, hands Fjord one, and wraps the bottle in an ostentatious piece of fabric, tucking it into the bottom of his trunk.   
  
“To new friendships,” Molly declares as he holds his cup out toward Fjord.   
  
“Agreed,” Fjord says, and there’s a dull clattering noise as they toast their cups together before drinking.   
  
It’s a thick, syrupy mead, Fjord realizes, flavored with some kind of berry and spice and it sends fire down his throat, but settles warm in his belly. It’s sweet, almost obnoxiously so, but the heat of it informs him that any more than a cup would send him well on the road to intoxication.   
  
Bosun certainly has interesting tastes.   
  
Molly smacks his lips with a satisfied noise. “The perfect nightcap,” he hums, and sets the cup on the small table between their swaying hammocks.   
  
The ship moves steadily on, bobbing on the waves, but not rocking wildly as it had when under the storm. Peace has moved in, and Fjord’s thoughts are a whirl. He contemplates his cup, wondering what madness his life has become.   
  
Was it only yesterday he’d been sitting at Vandren’s table, discussing the future of their pack? Has it been barely a day since Avantika betrayed them, sundering the pack and killing all who opposed her?   
  
They climb into their respective hammocks, Fjord finding it easier this time around.   
  
“You’re learning. I’m proud of you, Fjord,” Molly teases.   
  
He snorts and shoves a lumpy pillow beneath his head. The gentle shift and sway of the boat is actually kind of soothing. It creaks around them, but not so loud as to keep him awake.   
  
“What are you going to do when we get to port?” Molly asks, his voice rising out of the darkness.   
  
Fjord closes his eyes, the question striking at a hard knot of tension in his belly. To answer honestly gives too much away. He doesn’t know why he bothers keeping it a secret either, save that the pain is too fresh to willingly share with a relative stranger.   
  
“Find my way north maybe,” Fjord says. Vandren’s told him about another pack around Glasspeak. Maybe he can find out more of Avantika’s plans or seek aid from the clanleader.   
  
“Well, I’m not going to say I won’t be disappointed, but just so you know, you’re always welcome to stay with us. We’re all drifters so I’m sure we could find a place for you,” Molly says, and though his tone is light and casual, Fjord feels like there might be something underneath.   
  
Or maybe he’s projecting. Maybe he wants somewhere to belong, now that he doesn’t have a home.   
  
“I appreciate that,” Fjord says. His tongue is heavy and sweet with the lingering flavor of the mead. He’s a bit dizzy from the heat of it, but it’s a good dizziness. It puts a heaviness in his body, like it’s trying to drag him toward sleep. “I might just take you up on that offer.”   
  
“At the very least, I hope you stick around long enough to watch the show,” Molly says before the sound of him yawning fills the air. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, I assure you.”   
  
Fjord believes him, considering what he’s seen just tonight. “Then I won’t miss it,” he promises.   
  
“Good.” There’s a quiet creak as Molly sets his hammock to swinging. “Good night, Fjord.”   
  
“Night, Molly.”   
  
Quiet falls between them. Fjord lays there, exhausted to his very core, but his heart hammering and his thoughts spinning wildly. Yasha fights her god. Caduceus has some kind of weird calm about him. Jester is impossibly sweet. Molly is an untameable wild thing.   
  
Fjord aches inside for the family he’s lost. But this group of strange and unusual and dangerous folk are so unique, he finds himself charmed. He can’t imagine spending the rest of his life traveling around the world as a member of the troupe, but he appreciates the invitation.   
  
Right now, he could really use some friends.   
  


~

  
  
Fjord snaps awake for the second time in as many hours, heart pounding in his chest, senses alerted to the slightest movement and sound. His breath quickens, and his ears zero in on the noise which had woken him.   
  
Whimpers. Quiet. Muffled. Low groans. Softer thumps. The creak of a hammock.   
  
His face heats. He thinks Molly's decided to seek some entertainment from one of the crew, however rude that might be.   
  
But the air tastes charged, like magic, and as the seconds pass, Fjord changes his mind. He rolls over, seeking Molly in the dark. The tiefling tosses and turns in his hammock, fingers and toes gripping tight to the woven ropes. His teeth are bared, lips peeled back over them.   
  
A nightmare.   
  
"Molly?" He aims to be soft, not to startle, but there's no response.   
  
Fjord fumbles out of the hammock, uncoordinated and clumsy. He repeats his roommate's name to no response, other than a snarled word in a language Fjord doesn't recognize. There's a faint sound of something dripping.   
  
It occurs to him he should be more wary, but then he's touching Molly's shoulder to give him a little shake, saying louder and more firmly, "Molly!"   
  
Crimson eyes snap open, black in the dim of the room. Molly snarls and lurches upright, and Fjord stumbles backward, out of reach of dangerous weapons, but all Molly does is curve over the side of the hammock and vomit.   
  
Fjord clambers to his feet, fumbles for the flint, and lights the lantern with shaking fingers as Molly makes groaning and splashing noises behind him. It takes a couple tries before the lantern fills the small room with a soft glow, barely brighter than the peek of dawn out the window.   
  
"Gods," Molly groans.   
  
"Bad nightmare?" Fjord asks as he turns back around.   
  
Molly looks wan. Pale. His clothes are soaking wet for some reason, and he's shivering. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. The floor beneath him is wet with the splatter of his vomit, but it doesn't look like vomit.   
  
Molly spits to clear his mouth. "Salty," he says, and rubs around his lips again, nose wrinkling. "That's a new one." He slips from the hammock, planting his ass on his trunk, away from the splatter. His tail flops over one arm.   
  
Fjord digs a waterskin out of his trunk and hands it over. "So. This has happened before?"   
  
"Dreams, yes. Whatever that was?" Molly gestures vaguely to the puddle. "Nope. That's a first." He pokes at it with a toe and frowns. "It's not puke." He touches his tongue and then shrugs, taking a swig of the waterskin.   
  
Fjord glances slantwise at the spill, which granted, doesn't smell like vomit ought to, but he's not too inclined to go touching it either. "What else would it be?"   
  
Molly slides down to his knees rather than stand, and he touches the very edge of the puddle, giving it a sniff. "Sea water," he says.   
  
"You're puking up sea water?"   
  
"Apparently." Molly sits back on his ass and digs with one hand in his trunk, pulling out a towel to throw over the mess. "Sorry I woke you. Not used to having a roommate to wake up." He tries to smile, but it's lop-sided and wan. He's clearly shaken and trying to hide it.   
  
Fjord sits down on his own trunk, which creaks warningly beneath him. "So. Uh. Wanna talk about why you're spewing seawater?"   
  
"You want the long answer or the short answer?" Molly takes another swig of the water before wrinkling his nose. "Ugh. I keep thinking it's booze, and then it's not." He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth and hands it back. "Tell you what. How about a trade?"   
  
Fjord tucks the waterskin beside him. "What kind of trade?"   
  
Molly curls his legs into lotus and leans back against the trunk, aiming for lazy redolence, but too shaky to pull it off. "I'll tell you a secret if you tell me how you ended up in the water."   
  
It's fair.   
  
Fjord twists his jaw. "Depends."   
  
"On?"   
  
"You got something stronger than that mead you swiped?"   
  
Molly smirks and it has no right to be so charming. "Of course I do." He turns and digs around in his trunk before producing a bottle which he tears the cork off with his teeth. "Guests first."   
  
The smell hits him before anything else, heavy and bitter and pungent. It's the worst kind of rotgut, but Fjord's thirsty enough, he doesn't care. He takes a hefty swig and squints his eyes against the burn trying to creep up his throat. It's thick, almost syrupy, and he swears he can't feel his tongue afterward.   
  
"Do I want to know what's in this?" Fjord asks after he thumps his chest a few times before passing it back to Molly.   
  
Molly toys with the mouth of the bottle, tongue flicking over the rim. "Probably not." He drinks, and Fjord doesn't notice the way his throat bobs at all. "You first."   
  
Fjord twists his jaw, but leans forward on his elbows, rolling his neck to ease the cramp. "Short version. There was a coup, a mutiny, whatever. I got thrown into the water after an explosion. Kind of surprised I survived, to be honest."   
  
"Wow. Way to be stingy on the details."   
  
Fjord shrugs. "What else is there to tell? That's the important part."   
  
"If you say so." Molly's smirk is slow and sly. "Besides, it's not like I have more to offer." He leans forward, offers the bottle back to Fjord. "I couldn't even if I wanted to."   
  
"So I'm stingy, and you're just vague," Fjord says as he takes back the bottle and sucks down another hearty swig.   
  
Molly laughs, though it's a little rasp, and he rubs at his throat with talon-tipped fingers. "Not on purpose at least." He flicks his hands toward the air. "I don't know why I have these dreams, I don't know where those came from--" Here he pauses to gesture toward the swords hanging from a hook on the wall,"--and honestly, I haven't a clue who I am."   
  
Fjord blinks. "What?"   
  
Molly holds up a single finger. "No, that's slightly inaccurate. I know exactly who I am." He taps his clavicle, right over a tattoo of some brightly colored sea-creature. "I am Mollymauk Tealeaf and whoever I was before they fished me out of the sea, that person isn't me, so they don't matter."   
  
Fjord drinks, and it's amazing, how much easier the next few swallows go down. "Let me get this straight--"  
  
"Oh, don't bother. I'm not." Molly grins at him.   
  
It takes Fjord a second for Molly's meaning to sink in. His face heats, and he coughs into his hand, disguising it with another sip of the booze.   
  
"That's not going to be a problem, is it?" Molly asks, his tone a touch more serious now, his entire body growing tense as if he expects Fjord to suddenly leap across the room and attack him.   
  
"No. No, it's not a problem, it's the way you said it is all." Fjord coughs again, waves off Molly's concern, and hands the bottle back. "What I mean is, so you're saying you don't remember who you are, and they pulled you out of the ocean."   
  
"Scooped me up in a fishing net actually," Molly replies, in a cheerful tone that belies the ridiculousness of his story. "Thought I was dead at first. Turns out I wasn't."  
  
"And you don't remember anything?"   
  
Molly rolls the bottle between the palms of his hands. "I get flashes of intuition sometimes. Impressions of things that are familiar. But other than that? Nope." He grins, and it's a delighted thing. "I get the feeling whoever that person was, I don't want to be them. And I'm not them. I'm Mollymauk Tealeaf, and this is my life now."   
  
"Is that your real name?"   
  
"It is now." Molly's grin turns genuine, and he shoves the cork into the bottle. "Your turn. Tell me something a little more."   
  
Fjord side-eyes him. "It's not fair that you get to wave it off with some amnesia."   
  
"Life ain't fair. Now spill."   
  
Fjord swallows a sigh and scrubs his palms across the top of his thighs. "My clan lives north of Port Zoon. Apparently, the whole family wasn't satisfied with the status quo. Avantika and her half of the clan rose up against Vandren's half, our chief's half."   
  
"Lemme guess. You stood with your chief. You seem like that kind of noble guy."   
  
Vandren's more than a chief to him. Vandren's family. The only family Fjord's ever known since they picked him up from the orphanage. Him and Sabian and all the other kids no one wanted, and thought they could get out of caring for, if somehow, the orphanage caught fire, late in the dead of night.   
  
Fjord nods. "I stood with Vandren," he agrees and swallows a heavy sigh. "I don't really know what happened after the explosion. It threw me out, into the water. I thought I was dead."   
  
"Nope. Instead you're just really lucky."   
  
"I don't feel lucky." Fjord rakes his hands through his hair and stands up, feeling the fatigue of the night in his bones.   
  
Molly tilts his head, eyes a red glimmer in the dark. "You wanting to go back? See if your clan is still there?"   
  
"I doubt they are, but yeah." Fjord looks at his hands, squeezing them into a fist before releasing them again. "Find Vandren. Or find Avantika and figure out what the hell she wanted."   
  
“For revenge?”   
  
“For answers,” Fjord corrects, but maybe… maybe revenge isn’t far off either. He doesn’t know Vandren’s fate, but he’d heard the screams and smelled the blood from battle. Some of the clan had perished, he’s sure.   
  
He doesn’t know if Vandren survived. He hopes it. He prays for it. But he doesn’t know. It’s something he intends to have answered, along with everything else.   
  
Just what in the gods was Avantika after that Vandren wouldn’t give her?  
  
Fjord stretches his arms over his head, bones cracking loudly, and climbs into his hammock. “Anyway, think I’m going to try and catch a few more hours.”   
  
“Go for it. Don’t think sleep is in the cards for me anymore.” Molly grins, but it’s sloppy and half-hearted.   
  
Fjord supposes if he’d had nightmares that made him vomit up seawater, and he didn’t know why, he wouldn’t be so quick to fall back asleep either.   
  
Mollymauk tucks the booze back into his trunk and douses the lantern, their room falling into the dim of encroaching dawn.   
  
“See you up top, Fjord.”   
  
The door clicks quietly shut behind him, and Fjord turns over to face the wall, staring at the grooves in the wood. Just when he thinks that this situation can’t get anymore strange…   
  
He falls asleep, trying not to replay the moment his world turned to a blaze of fire, and failing considerably.   
  
By morning, the wet patch and towel are both dry, and all that's left is a small ring of crusty salt to mark where it had been.   
  


***

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, as always, is welcome, appreciated, and encouraged. 
> 
> Yes, this is going to be a long fic. I don't know how often I'll update, but it'll be finished for sure. I'm invested. ^_^ And don't worry, Caleb and Beau and Nott will be joining them.


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